


You Have Me

by codewordpumpkin



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codewordpumpkin/pseuds/codewordpumpkin
Summary: Reddington is gravely sick, and not wanting Liz to see him steadily deteriorate, he has disappeared to God knows where. But she won't let him go that easily.





	1. He's Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm on a roll with these fics, aren't I? I'm actually rather proud of myself. But really... this season has shown so much renewed potential for Lizzington, and I find myself feeling hopeful - and inspired, evidently.  
> Just to get it out there, this fic will NOT be a one-shot! I envision this being AT LEAST a few chapters... How long those chapters will be, however, is another matter entirely ;) Nonetheless, hope you guys enjoy!

At first, she had thought it was because of her last-minute confession.

Although they had shared a tight embrace and a chatter-filled car ride, any warmth between them—any warmth _from him_ —appeared to have cooled rather rapidly thereafter. He had wasted no time hopping on a plane, evidently eager to get away from the Post Office and all it represented—and she had let him have that.

However, even after he had returned to once again play quid pro quo with the FBI, he had remained… distant. When others were around, he had seamlessly maintained his larger-than-life, charm-your-pants-off, Raymond Reddington persona. But even then—even when only a few feet had separated them—he had never felt more far away.

The last time they had been alone was when she had told him she loved him—hence, the reasoning behind her initial assumption.

It had taken her a while to realize, but when she finally did, the clues she had blindly missed flashed before her eyes like a giant neon sign: the dark bags of exhaustion that had weighed down his cheekbones, the pills she had seen on the kitchen counter of his apartment, the deep creases in his face that housed not just worry but _fear_ , the green juice he had practically gagged on with disgust… As a man of indulgence, he enjoyed fine wines, rich scotch, grapefruit gushers… but _green juice?_ She should have known right then.

Raymond Reddington was sick.

And now he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, very short, I know, but think of it as an intro or prologue or whatever floats your boat!  
> M rating is for future chapters!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, it is super short, but I thought it'd be better than nothing. Honestly, I'm just happy I managed to update this at all!

When Elizabeth entered her apartment that night, tired and in desperate need of a hot bath, some fresh takeout, and a glass of wine—or two or three—it took until she had removed her jacket, tossed her keys and bag on the kitchen counter, sat on the couch and exhaled a heavy, draining sigh, that she noticed the file sitting innocently on her cluttered coffee table.

This was the third one in almost two months—the first since she had realized the reason behind Red’s absence.

She had had enough.

Dialing the number of the week, she pressed her phone to her ear, closing her eyes as she waited for the line to connect.

Two rings, as usual.

“Dembe.”

“Elizabeth,” the familiar, stoic voice responded. “The file contains everything you need to catch the next blacklister.”

“Great—I’m sure the task force will appreciate it,” she said dryly. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Is something wrong?” His voice was now layered with concern, and she could practically _see_ the subtle frown he was probably sporting.

She shook her head. “I need to see him.”

“That is not possible at th—”

“I know he’s sick, Dembe,” she rushed in a low whisper, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because she felt it was a secret she needed to protect. Or maybe it was simply due to the sudden tightening of her throat. “ _Please_.”

“… Have you told anyone?” he finally said, the end to his silence allowing her to breathe again.

“No,” she replied honestly.

“Good.” Another pause, then, “I will text you the details.”

Her previously tense shoulders slouched with relief. “ _Thank you_.”

“Have a safe flight, Elizabeth.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh nooo. I apologize in advance for yet another short chapter. I really hoped for a longer one, but the natural breaks just help me with writer's block (I say writer's block, but what I really mean is that it keeps me in my ~writing mood~). Hope you understand - and enjoy!

“Of course, sir. I'll call with an update as soon as I can.”

Disconnecting the call, Elizabeth sighed.

As promised, Dembe had sent over the details less than an hour after they had spoken over the phone. Knowing how vast Red’s reach was, it had been nearly impossible for her to even begin to imagine where in the world they currently were— _Moscow? Kenya? Florence?_ A single, curt text, however, had let her know that they were a lot closer than she had initially thought—a mere few states away.

Massachusetts.

For the purpose of protecting Red’s privacy, she had promptly called Cooper to let him know that Reddington had requested her immediate presence, wishing to inform her of the next blacklister in person. Her little trip had been approved without question, with the condition that she provide frequent updates.

Shortly thereafter, Dembe had sent over the jet, and she was now slouched in one of the plush seats, forcing her body to relax and settle in as Edward prepared for takeoff.

Of course, that was much easier said—or thought—than done.

It had been made clear through her brief interaction with Dembe that Red was not aware of her impromptu flight. That tidbit of information both calmed and worried her. On one hand, she’d have at least the next hour to mentally prepare herself for the inevitable confrontation. Plus, since she was catching him by surprise, he wouldn’t be able to prevent her from seeing the short journey through.

But soon enough, the plane would land.

And then…

_Then what?_

Would there be yelling? Tears? An exchange of hurtful words? Or would he meet her questions with silence? Would that twitch beneath his eye appear? Or would he express his anger by shattering a crystal tumbler? And if he did… What would splinter more?

The glass or her heart?

_She would bet on the latter._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept forgetting to mention: Agnes does not exist, Tom died as he did in canon, Red's prison arc did happen but it was Jennifer who turned him in, the Ilya Koslov revelation did not occur (because Liz loves who Red is now more than she cares about who he once was) and some of the cases/events from the show may be a bit different here for the purpose of this fic. whew.

She didn’t bother knocking or ringing the doorbell, wanting to catch Red off his guard and, preferably, unarmed. Instead, she simply texted Dembe that she had arrived. Within minutes, the door opened and she was face-to-face with the man himself.

Silent communication passed between the two—her, a weak smile, and him, a solemn nod. Stepping inside, she trailed behind him as silently as she could. And all too soon—the narrow hallway was really much too short, as far as she was concerned—they arrived in what seemed to be the living room.

Then she saw him.

She wasn’t sure what sort of sight she had expected would greet her—him in a wheelchair? A hospital bed?—but, to her utter relief, he appeared… well, normal. Sure, the bags under his eyes suggested chronic exhaustion— _given his lifestyle, how could he **not** be tired?_—his normally golden tan had faded a shade or two— _he hadn’t been spending his time away in Bali, then_ —and he might have lost some weight, but he was dressed in his customary three-piece suit—the light grey, her favorite—with a nice paisley tie that complimented his features rather handsomely, she thought.

All in all, he looked like Red.

And, if his stricken expression was of any indication, she looked like a ghost. 

Judging by the way he was facing the open doorway, standing in front of the armchair as if he had just gotten up, she was given the impression that her sudden visit wasn’t as much of a surprise as she had wanted it to be. Hell, he had probably known she was here the second she was dropped off at the driveway.

“Red,” she croaked, her throat dry from nerves.

He shifted his blank gaze to Dembe, almost accusing in its subtle intensity, but his dear friend and bodyguard didn’t even flinch.

“I will give you two some privacy,” he simply stated, promptly walking out of the room that, given the bookshelves and fireplace, should have been cozy but only felt suffocating.

Rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek—similar yet entirely different to the time he had seen her blonde hair for the first time—he finally turned his head, their eyes locking.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice so low and gravelly that she was surprised to have heard him at all. Motioning for her to sit, he waited until she took a seat on the couch before he settled back into the armchair. “Did you not receive the file Dembe sent?” he asked innocently.

“It’s been two months,” she said, ignoring his rhetorical question.

He nodded. “So it has.”

“Where have you been?”

“Here and there.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “And what brings you to Massachusetts?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” he said dryly, arching a brow.

“… You’re sick.”

He chuckled, the sound both soothing and frightening. “Yes, so I’ve been told—more times than I’d like to admit, unfortunately.” Shrugging, he continued, “But I’m going to need you to elaborate, sweetheart.”

“Red,” she shook her head, “ _I know you_ _’re sick_.”

The mask of amusement immediately slipped, the twitch on his cheek letting her know she had hit a nerve. “... How?”

“Does it matter?” At his silent, unwavering gaze, she sighed. “I put it together only recently.” Then, not wanting him to even _think_ of suspecting Dembe, she added, “No one told me, and I didn’t tell anyone, either. Cooper thinks you called me here to tell me about the next blacklister,” she said, huffing a humorless laugh. “He’s expecting an update, by the way.”

He still didn’t say anything, but at least his tense frame seemed to have relaxed a little.

“So?” she questioned, uncomfortable with the loaded silence. “What is it?… Cancer?”

 _Please, God, don't_ _let it be cancer._

Just as she was about to give up on receiving an answer, he quietly replied, "... Parkinson's."

“Parkinson’s?” She gulped, trying to remain calm and not crumble into a weeping mess. Then, hoping she sounded more optimistic than she felt, blurted, “It’s not a fatal disease.”

“In my line of work, it might as well be.” 

“Well, you’re receiving treatment, aren’t you? Managing the symptoms?” she said, feeling panic rise in her chest and claw up her throat because she knew, of course, that he was right.

Staring at her, his eyes softened. “I’ve lived my entire adult life surrounded by a corona of death. Some days, I’ve even longed for it. But lately, I find I’m unwilling to go gentle into that good night.” He smirked, that slight curve at his lips dripping with dark amusement. “So, to answer your earlier question, that is why I’m here.”

“In Massachusetts,” she drawled slowly.

“In Massachusetts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, thank you guys so much for all your kudos and comments. They truly make my day!


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